


Spark and Court

by Achrya, Daiako (Achrya)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Cousin Incest, Crossdressing, Dark, Discussion of Abortion, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Forced Bonding, Forced Feminization, Gender Fuckery, Gender Roles, M/M, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Pack Bonding, Past Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Rape/Non-con Elements, Referenced Mpreg, Sirius Black Lives, omega bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-08-20 08:04:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20224543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Achrya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Achrya/pseuds/Daiako
Summary: Omegas are near nonexistent in the magical world, marriages to muggleborn wizards and cruel treatment all but wiping them out. There is, however, a way to activate latent traits in some, if the timing is just right and a certain plant utilized, but only the truly depraved or desperate would resort to such a thing.Voldemort is both, and in the wake of Lucius Malfoy's failure at the Ministry he sees a way to get revenge and the omega vessel he needs in one fell swoop. Narcissa intervenes on her son's behalf and Harry is, per usual, unlucky enough to get caught in the crossfire and suffer life altering consequences.





	1. .1. Poison

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings, in no particular order: Semi-graphic rape, cousin incest, dubiously consensual things as the nature of A/B/O causes, manipulation, betrayal, lies, canon divergent (I take what I like and burn the rest), Dom/sub, BDSM, non-consensual body modification, forced feminization, gender fuckery, discrimination, oppression, large age gaps, crossdressing, mpreg, discussions of abortion, and other stuff I’m no doubt forgetting. Students can use their wands over the summer after completing fifth year because I said so, and also always thought it was a dumb rule anyway. 
> 
> *On the Body Mod, male omegas in this AU have both vaginas and penises, and may develop other secondary sex traits over time.

It was a week before Harry’s birthday when things changed, to vastly underestimate the absolute chaos that followed. The day was a normal enough one, he woke up in the room he and Ron had been sharing, showered and dressed before rolling his reluctant to wake best friend off of the cot and onto the floor. They stumbled down to the kitchen to find Remus at the oven, sliding hot scones onto a tray already heaped high with eggs and rashers of bacon and absently using his wand to direct a knife to deposit butter onto the steaming pastries. Sirius was straddling the back of a chair by one of the windows, cracked open to let the smoke from his cigarette drift out, face blank. He didn’t seem to actually be smoking but, rather, letting the thing burn down between his fingers as he pillowed his head on the arm bent over the back of the chair. 

Remus had been gone a few days, doing whatever mysterious things Dumbledore had him doing, but looked to be in good spirits, offering a smile for Harry and a laugh for Ron when the redhead beelined right for the scones and shamelessly made a grab for one. Harry sat at the table, scrubbed clean along with the rest of the kitchen his first week here (much to Kreacher’s dismay), and poured himself a glass of orange juice, eyes sliding towards his godfather. 

Sirius’ eyes were red, his hair lank and falling around his face like a dark curtain, and his skin sallow under it’s natural tan. He was in the same clothes from the day before, albeit more rumpled; Harry would have been shocked if it turned out his godfather had done anything other than sitting up, drinking firewhiskey until the sun rose or Remus arrived and made him stop, whichever had happened first. 

“Do you have plans for today?” Remus asked, sitting across from Harry. A gesture of his hand sent the teapot to pour into three of the four waiting mugs. The last got coffee from a carafe unsettlingly shaped like the body of a pixie, with the steaming liquid pouring from the mouth pulled wide in an eternal silent scream. Sirius perked up, though if it was Remus’ voice or the smell of coffee that did it Harry couldn’t say, and slunk to the table to wrap thin, claw like fingers around the mug. 

“The garden, I think.” Harry said, casting a nervous look at his godfather. He’d been slowly working his way through the house to set things as close to rights as he could, and shoving endless amounts of disturbing ‘antiques’ into the attic to deal with some other time. Or burn. Burning most of the contents of 12 Grimmauld Place seemed like such a good idea, and would probably go over better with Sirius than all the cleaning and attempts at repair had. 

His godfather hated this place, and had every right to. He was happy to let it fall even further into disrepair and filth, might even have thought it was what the Black family home deserved, but Harry wasn’t prepared to do the same. He’d spent too long under the demanding rule of Petunia Dursley for that, so he’d turned the picture of Walburga Black around, covered it heavy curtains nailed to the wall, and set to work. 

It was going well, in his opinion. The basement was clean, save for Kreacher’s cupboard, and the first floor had come along well. He was feeling a little cooped up though, and the garden was becoming more viciously overgrown with every passing day, so some time trying to tame it seemed like a good next step. 

Sirius snorted into his mug. “You’re going to want to tether yourself to the house so you can find your way back through all of that. And,” Red rimmed eyes, yellowing at the whites, flicked up to peer at Harry thoughtfully. “Look out for the man eating plants. Strip the skin right off you if you aren’t careful. And they’re poisonous-” 

“Venomous.” Remus corrected lightly. 

Sirius waved a dismissive hand. “They’re nasty, is what they are. Especially the Mamba Vine, wraps you up, injects you with its venom through it’s thorns, melts you from the inside out then drinks you down.” 

“Which ones are those?” Ron asked around a mouth crammed full of bacon and scone, looking a bit paler than he had a moment ago. Harry leaned away from him to avoid the spray of food. 

Remus sighed, lips twitching just slightly upwards. “Which ones aren’t deadly would be a better question, and every bit as impossible to answer. Walburga Black had a very...unique-” 

“Insane.” 

“Approach to gardening, and crossbred quite a few species, for reasons I cannot begin to fathom. Her own amusement, perhaps.” Remus finished smoothly. “I’ll go out with you and show you how to deal with them.”

Harry nodded enthusiastically. He wasn’t keen on the idea of being turned into soup by some vines with a taste for flesh if he could avoid it, or having the skin taken off is body. It would have been a pretty pathetic way to go after everything he’d faced down to be killed by an unruly garden. He could just imagine how people would talk about him after something like that. ‘Oh that Harry Potter, we thought he had so much potential but then he ended up as mulch in his godfather’s garden, tragically pathetic but no less than he deserved.’

Ron cringed. “I think I’ll sit this one-”

Sirius’ mug hit the table with a crack, sending steaming coffee rushing over the polished surface. Harry pushed himself back, yelping as he hurried to avoid the scalding hot mess spilling over onto the floor. Sirius’ hiss of pain was louder than the scraping of chairs as Remus and Ron jumped to feet; he was clutching his hand and at first Harry thought it was that he’d burned himself with the coffee but Sirius holding his hand out, palm up, proved that false quickly. The flesh was red and raw buy bubbling up stark white in blister lines. There was a shape to them, becoming clearer with each passing moment, as more blisters leapt up from the searing flesh. A sickly sweet smell filled the room. 

Remus lurched forward, snatching Sirius’ wrist, with his wand outstretched. 

“Don’t!” Sirius growled through gritted teeth. Remus froze, wand tip mere centimeters from Sirius’ skin, a grimace twisting his features. Sirius smiled wanly, though it seemed more like a flinch of pain that left his teeth exposed to Harry. “Leave it. It’s a summons.” 

“A summons?” Harry repeated, disbelieving. “Who? Haven’t they ever heard of owls or the floo or something that doesn’t do that!”

“Well,” Remus said distractedly, eyes trained on Sirius’ hand. “It is attention getting.” 

A loud pop left and the soft plop of something falling onto the table left Harry tripping over his words. It was a necklace, a long silver chain in three loops, with a silver snake pendant hanging from it. The snake was about the length of Harry’s fingers, thin and coiled into a figure 8 that was connected by the jaws clamping down on its tail. He could see tiny individual scales, some brushed silver and others polished and gleaming. It’s eyes were two bright blue gem chips, shaped into diamonds.

“Narcissa.” Sirius breathed. “She’s calling on the Omega Protection Rite. This must be...a portkey to where she is.” 

Ron made a noise of surprise and Remus’ eyes narrowed. Harry watched, feeling like once again he was missing some critical piece of information about the magical world that would let him understand why those words carried so much weight. Just hearing them was making his stomach tun, and the way Sirius was looking at the necklace, more serious that Harry had seen him in months sent a shiver of unease up Harry’s spine. He couldn’t really be considering what it looked like he was considering, could he?

“Sirius, you can’t.”

Sirius’ fingers flexed and the seared flesh of his palm pulled, cracked, and bled. “There’s no one else left.”

“Wait, Sirius-” Harry said in the same breath as Remus’ alarmed “Sirius-” 

“I’m the prime alpha of the Black family.” He pushed away from the table, face a mask of determination, and rose to his feet. The hairs on the back of Harry’s arm started to raise up and a prickling like his limbs had fallen asleep started to creep up his fingers and toes. Magic, undirected and seeping out, building swiftly crackled invisibly in the air. “I have to answer.” 

The cups on the table rattled. Remus’ hands snaked out, slamming down over the tops of two to keep them in place even as he turned narrowed golden eyes onto Sirius. “Not alone. I’ll go with you. It could be a trap.”

Again, a beat of silence as the tension between them ratcheted up. 

Sirius shook his head tightly. “Narcissa wouldn’t use the old ways like that. The backlash...she’s too shrewd, and self serving, to risk it.” 

“Nonetheless, I’ll be going.” There was an edge to Remus’ voice, something that made Sirius stiffen then, with a roll of his eyes, incline his head in acceptance. “Harry, Ron, stay here. If we aren’t back in twenty minutes contact Arthur and Molly.”

“What?!” Harry squawked. “You can’t be serious! Take us with you!” 

It was a testament to just how distracted both men were that they didn’t even spare him a look, as Sirius slapped a hand over one of Remus while clenching the pendant tightly in his injured hand. It was very typical, really, to completely ignore ignore him when things were getting dangerous and, to make matters worse, Harry wasn’t sure he was in any position to demand answers after everything that had happened in his fifth year. 

Yet Harry had to wonder, not for the first time in his life, if he was the only one thinking clearly. Sirius, who wasn’t to leave the house and had nearly died just a few months before, was going to answer a violent, painful, summons from Narcissa Malfoy, who was married to a Death Eater currently imprisoned in Azkaban as a direct result of Sirius and Harry’s actions? And seemed sure that wasn’t a plot against him because...Narcissa wouldn’t do something like that? True, Harry didn’t know much about Mrs. Malfoy, nor did he want to, but considering her murderous husband and absolutely prat of a son Harry very much doubted that she was a good or reasonable person. He didn’t understand why they were entertaining this idea and didn’t call the rest of the Order, or Dumbledore! None of that had even been  _ suggested _ .

But they were gone with a loud *pop* before he could even rise from his chair. He looked at Ron, who was frowning hard at a point above Harry’s head. He caught the redhead’s eyes and was treated to a shrug. He slumped back down into his chair and, with a groan, dropped his head down onto the tabletop. 

Great. Just great. 

The summer had really been going too well, all things considered. He should have seen something terrible happening, considering his luck. 

Harry hadn’t had to go to the Dursleys, for starters, staying instead at Grimmauld Place with Sirius, Remus, and the ever present, but varying, members of the Order as well as the Weasleys. There had been some heated discussion about it, though he had to hear about it second hand from Remus after the fact, circling around the fact the protect provided by his aunt would expire when he came of age that year. Dumbledore, it seemed, had wanted him to stay until his sixteenth birthday and take what assured protection he should, while some others thought it was an unneeded risk to have him one place and need to move him later, to say nothing of the risk it would pose for his relatives. And after the near miss at the Department of Mysteries (Harry woke up more nights than he cared to admit, hearing Bellatrix Lestrange’s high pitched laughter and seeing nothing but green, throat choked and lungs tight at the thought of what almost was) wasn’t it best to keep him close, and to continue teaching him everything the order could impart to him? In the end, Dumbledore had agreed and here he was, quietly counting down the days of what was shaping up to be his best summer ever. 

Aside from not being able to leave the house or it’s grounds, the constant tension in the air, and Sirius being...well. His Godfather was, once again according to Remus, not at his best after everything that had happened at the Ministry. Harry could tell Sirius was putting up a good front for him, tried to be ready with a bright smile, a willingness to ruffle his hair and slap him on the back, undivided attention, and a wealth of stories to tell and things to teach. But he also was painfully aware of the sounds of the man moving around on the lower floors late at night, the reek of alcohol that followed him, and of the dark shadows that lingered under his eyes and hollows of his cheeks. He seemed...tired, exhausted even, in the silent, still moments that crept up between them more and more often in the weeks since the end of term. 

It could be awkward, especially when Mrs. Weasley was about and radiating that unmissable air of disapproval Sirius seemed to never fail to inspire in her, or when Remus wasn’t around to fill in the silence with his warm voice and quiet humor. It would become even more tense than it normally was, the specter of the Black family and Voldermort’s lack of retaliation for the Ministry looming over them, when it was just the two of them. Harry had been guilty grateful when Ron had stepped into the house on the fourth week of break, trunk dragging behind him, to stay for the rest of the holiday because when other people were there Sirius was more like the man in all the pictures and stories, and less the worn, drawn shade Harry was coming to know. 

Harry was...he was sure it was hard on Sirius, being in the ‘haunted’ remains of his family home that he’d been so completely removed from, trapped, and now with the death of Bellatrix on his shoulders. Harry couldn’t imagine what it was like, having killed family. Even if it had been to save his and Harry’s lives, even if she was completely twisted and insane, even if it was the only way…She was still Sirius’ family.

Harry’s brain refused to process it what it must have been like for his godfather in the moment, watching Bellatrix fall back through the veil because of him, couldn't. 

He was grateful for Remus, and whoever else might have argued on his behalf to stay with Sirius for the summer, if not for his own sake than for his godfathers. Harry was sure Remus was making it simpler than it had been in reality, as Dumbledore had always been too adamant about him staying with the Dursleys for him to believe he’d caved after a little logic from the werewolf, but as always there were things he’d been deemed not old enough to know the full details of. A few months ago he would have resented that, would have demanded the answers they were keeping from him, raged and seethed, and then done what he could to find things out on his own. 

Things were different now. He wouldn’t go so far as to say he was okay with being treated like a child, not when in the same breath as telling him he wasn’t ready to hear all the details of what was happening he was hearing that he was meant to kill Voldemort, but for now he could accept it. He would accept anything that kept him from nearly losing what little family he had, and kept him close to it. 

Just like he would accept being left at the breakfast table while siad family went off on what seemed like a suicide mission, at best. Accept it while watching the close obsessively, getting up and pacing the perimeter of the kitchen for what felt like a long time but turned out to be barely a minute, before sitting back down. Ron thin smile was sympathetic, and anxious, though he kept quiet. It was a change of pace for the redhead, who was prone to chatter at the best, and worst, or times, and Harry appreciated the change. 

It didn’t take the full twenty minutes for Remus and Sirius to return. In fact it was barely ten before they were back, dropping into existence with twin shouts and the creaking crash of the table giving way and collapsing beneath their weight. Harry stared dumbly, torn between relief and confusion and maybe a little bit of humor at the sight of them, squashed under a sheet wrapped lump, coffee and tea splashed on them, dishes and food strewn about. 

“Damn.” Sirius groaned, shoving at the elbow Remus had digging what looked to be painfully into his neck. “Off, Moony, we need to heal him.”

Heal…

Harry’s eyes darted to the sheet wrapped lump, eyebrows jumping up when he sorted out the tangle of limbs enough to realize that there was an extra arm mixed it, this one milk pale and thin. A first glance Harry thought it the skin was covered in tattoos but looking closer found that no, the overlapping dark smudges were a molted curtain of bruises in blues, sickly greens, and raw angry reds. Sirius was holding tightly to the lump, one arm wrapped around the body and body arranged in a way that suggested he’d placed himself deliberately under it to cushion the fall they’d taken. 

He looked like he was in pain, and not just because Remus’ attempts to get away from him were resulting in more elbows and knees being jammed into seemingly sensitive places. Harry surged forward, leaning over the debris, to help, Ron following. His hand brushed over the bare arm but a dark look from Sirius and a snapped “Don’t touch him!” had Harry veering off to help Remus up instead. Sirius managed more or less on his own, with only a little steadying from Ron on the path to his feet, without letting his grip on the body slip. 

“Take Malfoy upstairs.” Remus said, tugging absently on his jumper. Harry’s eyes snapped back to the body, still tightly wrapped up with only the single limp arm showing. Malfoy? It didn’t look big enough to be Narcissa, who Harry knew was on the tall side, and she certainly wasn’t a ‘he’, but that only left- “I’ll bring up a potion after I inform Albus about this...development.” 

Sirius nodded once, tightly, before turning on his heel and racing up the stairs, louder and more lively in the moment than he’d been all summer. Harry watched him go, mouth open in disbelief. 

“Malfoy? That was  _ Malfoy _ ?” Ron spat the name with so much venom Harry could practically feel the acid burn of it. “That...that worthless piece of-” 

“Ronald, that’s enough.” Remus’ eyes cut towards the redhead and once again there was that edge to his voice, something on the edge of a growl that brought to mind sharp teeth and glowing eyes. Ron shut his mouth with an audible click. “Narcissa Malfoy is-she’s been killed by the Death Eaters.” 

Harry rocked back on his heels, the flat declaration making his heart and stomach drop. More death, because of Voldemort and his followers, because Harry- 

“Draco will likely be staying here for a time, as seems to be his mother’s final wish. He’s had a...trying time, this summer, and I will ask that if you don’t think you can be civil-and I have no intention of asking that you do-that you at least steer clear of him.” Remus paused, sighing tiredly as his shoulders slumped and he raked a hand through his graying hair. “The Dark Lord has been taking his anger at Lucius’ failure out on Draco and his mother, and now his mother is gone. There’s no reason to contribute to his misery. I know you’re both better than that.” 

He left them with that said, not looking back before hurrying up the stairs to the main level of the house. Harry and Ron exchanged bland looks then, as one, flopped back into their chairs. 

“Merlin’s balls.” Ron muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes; Harry silently agreed with the sentiment. Then, face twisting in distaste, pulled his hands away to squint at his palms. “What’s this glittery shit? I think it rubbed off with I touched Sirius.”

He turned his hand around for Harry to show a pale orange-yellow substance coating his palm. It shimmered even in the low light of the kitchen, like tiny flecks of gold were embedded in whatever it was. Harry leaned forward, reaching out to drag Ron’s hand closer to he could get a better look but stopped short when he saw his own hand was also covered. 

When had that happened? 


	2. .2. Tears

Severus was having what amounted to, by his admittedly low standards, a wonderful summer. The Dark Lord was too preoccupied with mourning the lost Bellatrix and punishing those he felt at fault for her death to be bothered with summoning Severus for all but his monthly dose of pain reducing potins and a cursory update on Dumbledore and his lackeys. Severus could tell the Monster’s heart, such as he had one in that half rotten body of his, wasn’t really invested in the updates and while that was unnerving to Dumbledore it suited Severus just fine. He didn’t know what the Dark Lord was up to that had him so eager to dismiss Severus and never call upon him and he didn’t much care. 

Likewise Dumbledore was wrapped up in some project that he didn’t seem inclined to enlighten Severus about. Add in Severus’ other master not seeing fit to confide in or include him and Dumbledore just didn’t have much use for him as a spy and had grown tired of lecturing him about trying harder, for the sake of their world, to work himself further into the Dark Lord’s confidence. That was another situation Severus was very okay with. A few weeks off from being the pawn both men liked to grasp and manipulate most was far from a hardship. 

Let them, his two masters who both were convinced they were the one truly holding his leash, play with some other other game pieces for a time. He had a great many other things he could do with his sudden wealth of free time and lack of stress. 

Not being worried that he might be tortured just for the Dark Lord’s amusement, or found out as a betrayer and killed, did wonders for his sleep and productivity. Shocking, truly. 

He tended to the garden behind Spinner’s End, forcing Wormtail to spread dragon manure, ghoul blood meal and powdered bone dust, weed, and tend to the more willful plants for him. It saved Severus from having to do the most messy work, and from smelling like dragon excrement for days after, and there was a certain pleasure to be found in watching his Betrayer’s Vines try to strangle the simpering worm of a man time and again. He took care of the more delicate plants himself, of course, and oversaw every plot with a sharp eye. Herbology had been something he excelled at, years of watching his mother pour her frustration and anger and love into the hidden garden heavy on his shoulders, but never had his plot flourished like it was this year. Even the more temperamental plants, the mandrakes, omegas’ tear, and phoenix tulip in particular, were thriving.

He brewed and researched, exchanged letters with colleagues he hadn't had the time to truly speak to in over a year, read through his backlog of Potion’s Journals. It was nearly time for him to submit an original potion to the potions master’s guild, something he had to do every eight years to maintain his Master status, and he’d dedicated precious little time to what had been years in the making for his first and second original brews. Then again he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be alive long enough that it would matter. 

Still he found himself putting thought into the matter, considering what his fellow masters had submitted in recent years, wandering the garden, tweaking mixtures here and there to make note of changes in effect. It reminded him of being young and curious, of wanting something from the world. He had yet to decide if it was a reminder he appreciated or wished to do without. 

He worked on his lesson plans, especially those for his Sixth NEWT level Year Potions course, now boasting more students than he’d ever had before. The standards had been tweaked by the Headmaster to, he was sure, allow certain favored parties to progress; it was an irritation to be sure but one he was overlooking because he was also taking on the NEWT Defense Against the Dark Arts course. Slughorn would be returning to take on the first through fifth year potions classes and Dumbledore claimed to have plans for the corresponding DADA classes, but Severus cared little about it. He was also in charge of Alchemy at the NEWT-level, which had been unexpected; he couldn’t help but wonder if it was just that he was the most qualified professor or if the Headmaster had some other motive. 

Still, while it was a change for him all around, and meant more time would need to be dedicated to his teaching overall, he was, in spite of himself, looking forward to it. Maybe he’d finally teach his students something worth learning about the Dark Arts and how not to be taken in by them, a lesson he wished had been imparted on himself and those he went to school with. 

How different would the world be if anyone had bothered to teach the truth about the Dark Arts, and not just sanitized, meaningless drivel that insisted that only the worst of the worst would dare to look beyond surface level prattling about darkness and light and fundamentally evil magic. 

Severus even allowed himself to lie in on occasion, enjoying the times when Wormtail was elsewhere and he had the entire day stretching before him. 

It was a very good summer. 

Naturally it couldn’t last. 

He was standing over a cauldron in his lab, one of many that was sitting over the bank of fire that took up an entire wall of the room, when the fireplace rose from a low burn to a crackling pillar. It flickered, changed from a warm orange to a cool blue; Severus waved a hand over his projects, a few variations of dreamless sleep he was testing for a witch in Canada, to freeze them in time and moved closer to the fireplace. 

He had two distinct floo lines going through the house, a private but registered one, accessible to any who knew it existed and connected to the floo system at large, and a second one put in place by the Headmaster and McGonagall, with their considerable talents in working outside of Ministry law, that took a password and could only be called into from certain locations. He expected Dumbledore, meaning to check in on him since they hadn’t spoken in two weeks and that was just long enough for the old coot to ‘worry’. 

“Severus,” The voice made him cringe, but he forced his face into a bored expression before Lupin’s head appeared in the spinning blue flames. He looked...troubled, hair in disarray, skin a bit pale, and a pensive expression on his face. That, and that his voice was devoid of it’s usual irritating ‘kindness’ and condescension was enough to let Severus know something serious had taken place. 

It was, probably, too much to hope Black had actually managed to kill himself off properly. Severus’ luck just wasn’t that good.

“Lupin.” 

“There is- Narcissa Malfoy is dead. Her son is here, with us.” 

There weren’t many things that shocked Severus, let alone enough to render him without words but Lupin had managed it. He went still, still a few paces away from the fireplace, and his throat tightened so that even if had words to say he doubted they would have come free easily. He realized distantly he was clutching his wand so tightly it was bending in his grasp and heating up uncomfortably, frisons of magic creeping along his palm. 

Dead. Narcissa was...how? When? Who, and there had to be a who, why? And what was Draco doing with Lupin and, no doubt, Black? It didn’t make any sense to him, was too far away from something he’d ever pictured that he could scarcely fathom it. Narcissa wasn’t in contact with Black, as far as Severus knew, and there had never been any particular affection between the two. Narcissa was the favored daughter of the family, smart, beautiful, and every inch the pureblood omega her family had wanted her to be. Black meanwhile had been wild and brash, even by the very lenient standards pureblood alphas were held to, and not the sort Narcissa would have wasted her time on let alone called on in a time of need. 

Severus would have said she was more likely to come to him, had not just been something like a friend to him but had, he thought, trusted him. Less than a month ago she’d written him a letter asking him to look after Draco when school was back in session and while the language had been simple enough, with nothing to read between the lines, Severus knew that to Narcissa there was nothing more precious than her son. 

Draco was what she treasured most in the world, and placing the boy’s welfare in his hands was no small matter. 

Lupin was watching him, the furrow in his brow lifting and something that looked disgustingly close to sympathy on his face. Severus chafed under the werewolf’s gaze, skin crawling. The nerve of him, looking like he felt sorry for him, like he could have any idea of what Severus was thinking. He swallowed back thick bitterness on the back of his tongue. 

“What happened?” 

Lupin’s eyes gleamed gold for just a moment before he was sighing and shaking his head. “We don’t know much. Sirius was called on, by the Omega Protection Rite. We thought it was Narcissa calling, because it was her pendant that came to the house, but the portkey took us to Draco instead. He was barely conscious, but he told us his mother was gone and had passed the Rite to him-” 

“Impossible.” Severus snapped, voice too loud, too sharp, to be considered anything close to normal. Lupin jumped, eyes widening and gaining that golden sheen again, and stared, openly startled. Severus cleared his throat then, careful to control himself, spoke again. “Mr. Malfoy- Draco- couldn't possibly use the Rite. He’s an alpha, or will be once he presents. He was tested.” 

Lucius had bragged near constantly about the good luck of having his first, and indeed only child, be an alpha. Alphas were increasingly rare, a result of omegas being near wiped out, and even the Malfoy line hadn’t seen one in a few generations before Draco, with Lucius himself being a beta (a very lucky one, for marrying an omega that many alphas had made courting offers for). In marrying Narcissa and having Darco, Lucius had hoped to bring some of that Old Magic and potential back into the dying family line, without all the downsides that comes with having an omega child. When Draco was of age he’d have his pick of partners, maybe even secure an omega for himself. 

It was impossible for Draco to be anything but an alpha, Lucius wouldn’t had claimed otherwise unless he was completely certain, and he wouldn’t have stopped at one child. For all the Lucius was a beta he wouldn’t have been satisfied with anything but an alpha. 

“He’s an omega, Severus. I saw him. I could smell him.” Lupin face twisted into a troubled frown. “If nothing else you should trust that my sense of smell is exceptional.” 

All alphas were gifted with powerful senses, particularly smell and sight, but few would be able to match Lupin. The man hadn’t been born an Alpha, from what Severus understood of his family line there had only ever been betas, but becoming a werewolf had changed that, making him something of a rarity even among the rate. More to the point, there were few things as capable as an alpha wolf in the world when it came to observational prowess. 

If an alpha wolf told you they’d smelled something there wasn’t room to doubt it, outside of calling them a liar. Which Lupin was, unquestionably, but probably not about this. Not about Draco and not when it would have been just as easy to no contact him at all and leave him in the dark. For not at least, once Narcissa’s death became public the Malfoy family arbiters would come looking for him to settle the matter of Draco’s custody and possession of the house with Lucius...otherwise occupied, as he was. 

The point was lying her and now did nothing for Lupin’s benefit, or the benefit of those he cared for. 

That didn’t change that what he was saying didn’t make any sense. Draco shouldn’t, couldn’t, be an omega. A person didn’t just change dynamics, not unless-

Severus stood up straighter, head whipping around to stare at the single, small window (sunlight was a powerful ingredient and he couldn’t risk it affecting his brews, but a small bit of access for potions that needed it was just as important) that looked out onto his garden. Omega’s Tears. It was a small vined plant that flowered in the summer and could, if treated properly, be turned into an agent that forced a change in unpresented bodies. It had, some few hundred years ago, been forced onto more than a few unfortunate souls in an attempt to stop the decline of the omega population but the ministry had eventually stepped in, made laws, set up protections.

One could grow the plant, in small amounts, with Ministry permission because there remained legal uses for it (heat regulation, soothing omegas in times of distress, artificial scent production, stabilizing volatile potions). Severus grew it because of that, and with his garden as heavily warded as it was he’d never worried about the Tears being taken for its other, less seemly use.

Had Wormtail-

“They, the Death Eaters I presume, have been-” Here Lupin paused, unsure, and Severus returned his attention to him. The werewolf’s expression was pained, mouth pinched into a thin line and the lines around his eyes stark, lines forming between his browns, but his eyes were angry. “Have been. Using him.” 

Severus said nothing, couldn’t have. Didn’t move, didn’t breathe, tried not to think because he knew, very well, what Death Eaters could and would do to any unbonded omega they go their hands on. Forcing their will on them, overloading them with claims until their minds were too twisted up and buried under their own submissive instincts, passed them around like toys, bred them with no regard for their health or physical state, drained every bit of magic from their cores and then, when they were useless husks, tossed them somewhere out of sight to die, alone. 

There had been one, an older omega someone had taken from her family on the eve of her mating ceremony. She was marrying a Muggle Born, an affront to those who wanted to keep bloodlines pure and thought omegas were the perfect vessels to see it happen. So they’d taken her, beaten her viciously, and then taken their turns. 

Screams had bounced off the walls of Lestrange Manor all night and well into the morning, nearly drowned out by the drunken revelry of those taking place. No one had lifted a hand to help her, to free her, or even kill her in the end like she begged for, least of all Severus. After that they’d kept her a toy, something to take frustrations out on when the day went badly or to play with while discussing important matters. Time had passed, her stomach had started to round, and then she’d thrown herself out of a window to her death. 

A waste, some of his fellows had sneered. Severus, barely six months out of Hogwarts, had...well. People said some things were worse than dying and he thought he might have had a better idea of what that meant. 

It didn’t haunt him like he sometimes thought it should, but maybe a person could only have so many regrets in a lifetime, and maybe he was full up. Or had been, because now his chest was aching and his eyes burned behind closed lids as he pushed the memory away from himself. He couldn’t deal with that feeling, oppressive and angry and 

Narcissa and Bellatrix had been exempt from such treatment, though Bellatrix had delighted in accepting the attentions of anyone she thought would be of use to her. Particularly their master, who had favored her above all others. Safety for Narcissa had come from Lucius being well thought of by the Dark Lord, a protection that kept her out of the grasp of openly interested alphas for years.

Narcissa...with Lucius gone, and far from His good graces...but she was under house arrest. A ‘precaution’, just in case she was in league with her husband, decided on by the Ministry, binding her to the house for as long as her husband was in prison, that meant she couldn’t leave the grounds and was supposed to be monitored constantly. She bemoaned it in her letters to him (letters where she hadn’t mentioned anything being wrong, aside from endless boredom, or else...had he missed something? A hidden message, a word out of place that would have altered him?) and that Draco, being a minor was bound to the manor through the parent-child bond. So long as Narcissa was alive and under house arrest Draco couldn’t leave any more than she could. 

If Narcissa was dead, however, nothing would be tethering Draco to the house. 

Finally Severus breathed, turned on his heel, and went to the shelves lining one of the walls. He kept his thoughts on what he was doing, what he needed to gather, and forced everything else away. Two different potions for pain, a powerful sleeping draught, a healing potion, not his strongest one but something that wouldn’t react poorly with the rest of the lot, a scent masker and suppressant, and finally a Curse and Poison purative of his own creation. It would need a few drops of Draco’s blood added to it, but once that happened it would be able to flush all traces of foreign magic and harmful solutions from his body. Anything not a hundred percent Draco would be destroyed and purged. 

It was illegal to administer to pregnant, or potentially so, women and omegas for obvious reasons. 

He didn’t hesitate in adding it to his collection. 

Lupin said nothing as he worked, putting more powerful freezing charms on his projects, locking his lab, and considering then dismissing the idea of leaving a note for Wormtail. He wouldn’t in normal situations and it wouldn’t do to be anything but normal now. Attention would turn his way soon, from all sides, and if he was going to play at being caught unawares he needed to lay the groundwork starting now. 

“Before you come through you should be aware of the situation, fully.” Lupin said, cautious and pensive once again. “You aren’t going to like what I have to say, and we’d be better off getting it out of the way now.”

Severus glared, impatient. “I never like anything you have to say, Lupin.” 

The werewolf’s smile was thin, just a hint of elongated teeth peeking over the edge of his lips. A chill crept up Severus’ spine. 

\---

Mating wasn’t something Sirius had ever pictured himself doing. The obvious issue of there being, at best, one omega for every fifty alphas and having little hope of having one interested in his pureblood rebellion thing, aside he’d never met an omega he felt a pull too. To the contrary, he'd spent most of his formative years in love with another alpha, already enough to make his dear mother want to vomit, and a werewolf one at that. It was, really, a wonder that he’d been able to leave the family like he had instead of being killed in his sleep the very night he’d told them he intended to move in with Moony as soon as he was done at Hogwarts. 

Though he imagined his mother, in whatever putrid pit of hell she was no doubt overseeing these days, was delighted at how that ‘unnatural romance’ had turned out. Remus could barely look him in the eye half the time let alone bare to touch him, some mixture of guilt, anger, and fear keeping him at arm’s length. 

Once upon a time Sirius had been the sort of man who wouldn’t have allowed that, he would have chased Remus down and demanded they work it out, boldly proclaimed his love, that they were meant to be, that they could fix this. But now. 

Now he was just tired. Too tired to do anything but wake up, smile for Harry day after day, and then bury himself in a cheap bottle of firewhiskey at night, and sometimes he could barely manage all of that. Some days he laid on the couch he’d passed out on, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering if it was worth getting up again. Wondering if escaping that hellhole, dragging himself home to find himself a stranger in his own life, hadn’t been a mistake. 

Wondering if it would have better if it’d been him, not Bella, who’d fallen back into the Veil. 

Sometimes it was hard to even breathe, a weight settling onto his chest, pressure squeezing his heart and lungs, everything on fire and infested with stinging bugs. He wanted to pull his skin off, pull everything outside of himself, just to get air inside of himself, to put out the fire that burned him so. 

But he was too tired for that too. Too tired, too brittle, too…

Too heavy in his not-old-but-Merlin-he-felt-Old-Age. 

He didn’t like to think about it all, if he could help it. It was better to focus on Harry, one being the Sirius he needed him to be, and letting the rest lie as it was. 

Strange though. He thought sometimes he remembered missing Remus terribly. He thought it had been like having a limb removed, not that he knew what that was like really. He’d reached out for him in the dark, inhaled in hopes of catching his scent among the damp, howled for him, bleed out everything he’d had and been but held tightly to amber eyes and a crooked smile, to lines that deepened with humor, and a scent like wet dirt and pine, to warmth and fur and running under the moon and-

But it wasn’t like that anymore. He missed him, an odd thing since he was so often right across the table but as far away as he’d been all those long years, but it wasn’t with the desperation he was sure had been there once. 

Something else lost to the Dementors, perhaps. He couldn’t say for sure, and being unsure he’d ever had it, let alone missed it, meant he couldn’t care much either. 

His mother would like that too. She’d always thought he was too emotional for a Proper Alpha, moved anger and sadness and joy too easily, showed it too freely, lacked the restraint and tact that a Black Heir should have. 

He could feel her smug gaze on him as he cleaned his young, too young, cousin’s body. He’d done something terrible, taken something that wasn’t for him, and he wasn’t even sure why he’d done it except that in the moment he’d had to. Everything in him had screamed for him to act, to protect in any way he could, he’d felt a pool from some place inside he hadn’t known even known was there and he’d just…

They’d dropped into the room to find Draco more unconscious than awake, looking horrifically small and pale in the center of a large bed. He was completely nude, arms stretched up above his head, wrists bound together, and chained to the headboard. His ankles were bound to opposite sides of the footboard, legs forced apart, thighs littered in dark bruises, some obviously from rough hands and others the crescent shape of harsh bites. Between his thighs, in the split second look Sirius had gotten before fixing his eyes above, was a mess of blood and fluids smeared over milk pale skin and the sheets. 

The room stank of sex and filth and the sharp, rotten meat tang of omega pain. 

Remus had gagged, stumbled over to a corner and emptied his stomach, and Sirius. 

“She’s gone.” Draco whispered, a broken little boy in a place no one, let alone a child, should be. His throat clicked, bulged under dark rings of bruises overlapping his windpipe. “Told me to call you and now she’s gone.” 

Sirius had lost his entire mind. Not that he was playing with a full wizarding chess set these days anyway, but everything had gone tinged with red, upended and dashed against the floor, then dimmed and narrowed down to only Draco, watching him with glazed silver eyes beneath colorless lashes, fat tears dripping down his swollen face. He was trembling. 

He’d bent over the battered, bruised, and violated body of his cousin, who’d called out to him with one of the oldest, strongest kinds of magic worked into the blood of every Black, and driven his teeth right into his flesh. Remus had shouted, pounced on him to drag him back but the work was done by then. He’d tasted Draco’s blood on his tongue and felt the tingle of magic mixing instantly, *felt* Draco in the back of his head. Small and scared and hurt, so hurt, everything he reduced to a weak fluttering pulse under Sirius’ skin. He’d reached for that fluttering even as Remus shoved him back, slammed him into the wall with a force that contradicted his thin, nearly sickly appearance, and he’d cradled it in his magic, wrapped it up safe and sound, and fed it what he could spare. 

Not much, he was far from his best, but enough to even out the frantic fluttering into something more steady and even. Draco had soaked it in, thrashed and moaned quietly on the bed

That was it. That was bonding, mating, claiming another. Something he’d never felt the need to do, done without a thought, finished in a clumsy frantic push, a lifelong connection for better or worse. 

He felt it, sparking under his fingertips as he ran cloth after cloth over Draco’s body, discarding the dirty ones with gritted teeth and an angry growl deep in his chest. Kreacher, useful for change of pace, kept the bowl of water he’d conjured warm and clean, kept new cloths at hand. He’d felt it when he’d held Draco close to his chest, and snapped at his godson to stay away from his new mate, felt it as he became aware of another alpha in the house, in his territory, coming towards them. 

He’d known Moony would be getting Snape, the prat was a sack of shit and a waste of space but he was almost one of the best potions masters in the world. He would be able to fix Draco as best as they could without taking him to St. Mungos. He knew that, in his head, and yet he was still on his feet, mouth fixed in a snarl when the door swung open and Snape strode in, robes billowing behind him in that obnoxiously dramatic way of his. 

Snape blinked at him, eyes bright and void of emotion. “Black.” 

“Snape.” 

"Lupin said you had... I thought your type ran more towards animals than barely legal boys." A sneer, that Sirius was too exhausted and too ashamed to bother returning, and the man was pulling vials from somewhere. “Your werewolf is getting me the hot water we’ll need, but in the meantime you need to get five drops of the green potion under Draco’s tongue. We have to start with that one, because it will cancel out the effects of anything already inside of him.” 

Sirius’ eyes flicked from Snape to the vial in question, clear glass with am murky gray-green fluid inside, to Draco, as silent and unmoving as he had been since the bond had bloomed. “What’s it for?” 

“It’s a…” Snape hesitated, fixing a flinty look on Sirius. “It will purify his body. Anything, magical, consumed, or *living* will be flushed out.” 

Sirius held out his hand for the potion. The glass was smooth and cool to the touch. “Five drops under the tongue.” 

“Yes.” Snape turned away to set the rest of what he’d brought on top of the room’s lone dresser. “You may need to hold him down, the process can be painful. ...Potter and the lesser Weasley are here, somewhere? You will,” Snape didn’t give Sirius a chance to ask what he wanted with Harry, barreling on but with none of the venom Sirius was used to hearing in his voice. “Keep them away from Draco. Not just because they seek to antagonize Draco at every turn and stress is far from what is needed here, but because I believe he had been changed with Omega’s Tears. An infected person is contagious until their first heat has passed and any physical contact is likely to be enough to cause infection.” 

Herbology had never been Sirius’ strongest subject but his mother’s interest in the more dangerous and illicit plants had forced him to pick up a little bit. He knew that Omega’s Tears, a very pretty little red flower with petals smaller than his pinky nail that grew into tight dripping spirals that hung from thin vines, could turn a person. 

There was more to it than that, the pollen had to be refined and treated a certain way, but once that part was done it wasn’t supposed to take much. 

Sirius frowned, trying to push back through the haze of anger and protectiveness he’d felt when they’d portkey’d back into the kitchen. Harry had reached for Draco but he’d warned him off before he could touch him, hadn’t he? 

“We’ll keep them away.” He said, perching carefully on the edge of the bed. He doubted it would take much, Harry and Ron hated Draco; he couldn’t see them wanting to visit and give their condolences or anything like that.

In fact once he broke the news of what he’d done keeping them from being infected would be simple. Keeping them from running away or blowing up, however… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Part: A little time passes. Some begin to recover, some begin to feel under the weather, and more of what exactly has happened begins to come out. Harry is, as usual, completely out of the loop


End file.
